


Dreaming In Color

by Stasia



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 11:12:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13052838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stasia/pseuds/Stasia
Summary: As a child, Bilbo dreams about princes and beautiful wide open green hills, but after his mother dies, the dreams fade to a stop.As an adult, Bilbo lives in a cramped dark industrial wasteland. His dreams come back and he discovers that his dream world is so much more than he imagined.Now, all he has to do is figure out how to fix the problems in the dream world, and maybe he'll get to stay there.





	Dreaming In Color

**Author's Note:**

> So, this idea wouldn't leave me alone. The last time that happened to me, it became a 300K word monstrosity. Let's hope this one is shorter.

***

“Bilbo, wait for me!” Thorin chased after Bilbo, who’d dashed down the corridor, laughing. 

“You can’t catch me, Thorin,” Bilbo called behind himself. He slid past a man in an elaborate guard’s uniform, then burst into a large throne room. The adults in the room all looked up at the guard’s shout, then the king bent forward and beckoned to Bilbo and Thorin, who’d skidded into the room just behind him.

“Come here, little ones. You can help me solve this puzzle.” He pulled Bilbo to one of his knees, then settled Thorin next to him. “Now,” he continued, pointing to a map on the table in front of them. “There’s been a drought here, so their crops haven’t grown well. But over here—” He tapped a different place on the map. “They’ve had a good summer, so they’ll probably have extra. How should we balance these two baronies?”

Bilbo looked up at him. “The people with more should share.”

“But what if they don’t want to?” Thorin sounded dubious. “Da will have to force them.”

The king laughed, his one eye crinkling. “The barony with the drought will have to pay for the food they need to import, but they have silver mines, so they should be able to afford it without too much extra work.”

“Oh, well then, _that’s_ okay,” Bilbo said. He squirmed and the king let him slide off his lap. “I’m hungry,” he said. “Can we have lunch?” 

Thorin turned to Bilbo, then cried out, “No, wait, don’t—” 

Bilbo’s clothes, empty, drifted to the floor. 

Bilbo was gone.

***

Bilbo knew he was dreaming. Nothing in real life was that pure a color. He stood in a little dell, looking out on a grassy verge, surrounded by birch trees the exact color of ash. The green of the grass cut through him, sharp as a knife, but somehow the pain accentuated the beauty. He lifted his gaze to the low hills, dotted with the most preposterously riotous rainbow of flowers. The sight of the blue sky knocked him right out of the dream and back to wakefulness.

Bilbo rubbed his face as he sat on the edge of his bed. Finally, he groaned and stood, pulling at the tired sheets. When the bed was orderly, he stumbled to the bathroom and draped his threadbare sleeping shirt over an old hook in the wall before stepping into the shower. _I hope the water is at least warm today._

It wasn’t. He rushed through his wash, hoping to save enough water from his daily allowance for morning tea. After drying himself to dampness – the towels never seemed to absorb everything – he dressed and went to the kitchen. “Ah,” he said softly, “I’m in luck.” There was enough water for a pot of tea now and, if he didn’t drink anything during the day, another one when he got back home from work. 

While the water heated, he thought about the dream. He still hadn’t seen anyone. When he’d been a child, he’d spent entire weeks in dreams playing with other children. One boy in particular had been his especial companion; they’d sworn to be best friends forever. 

When he’d asked his mother how he could meet the boy, she’d looked very sad and explained that sometimes, dreams showed people where they were meant to be. She’d died the next year, and his dreams stopped soon after. Bilbo still missed his friend, even though he knew that he wasn’t real. 

The kettle stopped hissing and he jerked back to reality. He poured the water into his father’s old teapot and took it, with the toast and small egg he’d saved from last week’s rations, to the table to eat. Before sitting down, he glanced around the empty room, then slid a book from behind a large photograph of a bitter-faced man. 

He read while he ate, then, after another quick check of the room, he poured the last of the tea, pale from lack of leaves, into his cup, propped his feet up on the corner of the bed, and sighed in pleasure. 

A loud klaxon blared through the room a few minutes later and he startled in his chair, nearly slipping out of it to the floor. After a moment, the klaxon sounded again, but by that time, he’d re-hidden the book and was rinsing his few dishes, leaving them to dry on the small plastic rack next to the sink.

Bilbo locked his door, nodding to the Gamgees next door as he did so. The three of them shuffled along the narrow, broken sidewalk, then huddled together under the flimsy plastic bus shelter on the corner. Bell and Hamfast stood with their heads close together; Bilbo looked away and stared down the street. 

The grey sky was lightened by the sun, but even that didn’t warm the buildings or the empty streets. Bilbo saw a small shape scurry across the road and closed his eyes to rub them. It had looked almost like a strange, crouching person, running on all fours. When his eyes opened, he gasped.

He stood atop the low green hill he’d been climbing in his dream. The sky was a blue so deep it made his chest ache, and he could see all the way to the horizon. Just below were more hills, falling away into a patchwork of small tilled fields; further on, he could just see a little cluster of buildings and far beyond that, just at the very edge of the world, he could see the purple shapes of mountains throwing themselves up to touch the sky.

He breathed in deeply, then coughed as a wave of damp, moldy air hit him. He blinked to see the bus pulling to a stop in front of the Gamgees, who were looking at him with worry. He scrambled to climb on behind them, dropping his little coin into the plastic collection box and not quite hearing the flat sound as it hit the bottom.

“Are you okay?” Bell whispered, as she sat down across the aisle from him, her thin bag clutched on her lap. “You looked as if you were going to faint.”

Bilbo shook his head. “No, I’m fine. _Fine._ Thank you.” He huddled into his flimsy jacket and kept his eyes open, watching the old buildings sliding past the bus.

At work, he spent the first part of the day struggling to get the records from last night to add up. He hated the way the night crew refused to do their own tallying up. They’d used to do it, but since Lobelia had moved to the night shift, things had got much worse. After bolting lunch in the dismal cafeteria, he settled back in at his tiny cubicle and got started on the ever-growing stack of ration increase request documents he was supposed to be processing. 

As he worked, he heard one of the others in his section begin to hum. The song was low and resonant—familiar to Bilbo, like a tune he’d heard as a child. Without thinking about it, he sang along – quietly, under his breath – the words spilling from his tongue and strengthening his hands at his work.

“That’s a pretty song.” Bell’s voice startled Bilbo, and he jumped, smearing the ink on the last form. “Where’d you hear it?”

“I—” he started, then slowly closed his mouth as he realized that the rest of the area was silent. “I don’t know.” He tapped his papers into a neat stack and centered them in the PROCESSED basket on the shelf at the opening to his cube.

“It’s time to go,” Bell said, tugging her purse strap higher on her shoulder. Bilbo felt a rush of shame for making her wait. He pulled his own jacket back on and followed her through the maze of cubes. A light glowed in one cube which had been empty for weeks; Bilbo caught the gleam of golden hair, but Bell called to Hamfast and Bilbo put his head down, hurrying after her.

***

That night, he dreamed of wandering down the main street in a little village. He walked carefully across the rough cobbles to the raised walkway close to the buildings. Many of the windows were lit and he looked inside to see happy families settling down for meals, or shopkeepers doing their closing up work. The blacksmith’s forge was still open and he stepped inside; he’d never seen a real forge and couldn’t pass up the opportunity. 

It was warm inside and he reached up to his neck; to his surprise, he was wearing a sturdy coat with shoulders dusted with snow. He turned to look and it was snowing heavily outside. “Now how did I miss that?” he muttered.

“C’n I help you?” A young blonde girl stood at the counter, her sleeveless top showing narrow shoulders and muscular forearms. “We’re full up for the week, but if you want something made in a hurry, we might fit it in. For a price, of course.”

Bilbo blinked at her, then shook his head. “Ah! You can see – of course you can, yes, where was I? Oh, right.” He patted the coat pockets, pretending to look for whatever one brought to a forge to have fixed or made or whatever. One pocket crinkled attractively; he pulled out a roll of paper and spread it out on the counter.

The girl looked down at it, then back up at him, surprise clear on her face. “A sword?” She rolled the paper back up quickly and shoved it towards him, looking upset. “You know we can’t do that. We’re closed.” 

Bilbo took the paper and edged backward. She was much taller than he’d realized. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. When I was younger, we all, I mean, I’ll just—” His back thudded into the door and he groped around for the handle, turning it and practically falling through the door to get away. 

Through the window, he saw the girl dive across the counter and lock the door behind him, her expression tight. She turned and called over her shoulder to someone further in the building, then she caught sight of him watching through the window. 

“And don’t come back,” she shouted loud enough for him to hear, before snatching the cloth blind down to cover the window.

 _Why can’t they make swords? And whose coat have I got on?_ Bilbo turned to look down the street and found he’d woken up and was standing at the small window of his flat. 

“What the…” He shivered – the heat had been turned down again – and crawled back into his cold sheets. 

***

“Who was that?” Thorin stepped out into the front of the shop, his heaviest hammer held lightly in one hand. Fili had sounded so distraught. 

Fili looked around, her face a study in tension. “Some man came in and asked us to make a _sword_. I mean, he didn’t say it outright, but …” She pressed her lips together and Thorin’s heart broke to see her looking so scared. “Are we going to have to move again?”

Thorin set the hammer down. “Of course not. What do you mean, ‘he asked but didn’t say it outright’?” He watched Fili stare suspiciously at the window. “Did he or didn’t he?”

Fili sighed and slid back over the counter. She heaved the hammer up and propped it on her hip. “I asked him what he wanted. I mean, I was polite, unlike some of us.” She grinned at Thorin, who knew he looked a bit sheepish. “Anyway, he pulled out a roll of paper and there was a sword drawn on it.”

Thorin shrugged. “But he didn’t actually say, ‘please make me this forbidden weapon’?” He followed her through to the actual workroom and went back to cleaning up for the night. She started in on her part of the work. 

“No, but—” She dumped an armful of wood into the rack and dusted her hands off. 

“Could you sketch it for me? The sword?” 

She rubbed her nose. “Sure.” She pulled a sheet of paper from the stack near the door and sketched the lines of the sword.

Thorin stared at it, then touched the lines of the hilt. He saw his fingers shaking and curled his hand into a fist. “You—you’re sure this was it?”

Fili nodded. “Yeah. It was pretty.” She watched him. “Why?”

Thorin turned and fed the paper into the last of the forge’s fire. “Nothing.” He watched the paper curl and blacken, the smooth lines and ancient style of his grandfather’s sword disappearing into ash and soot. “You’re right. It was beautiful.”

***

In the morning, Bilbo woke up to the klaxon which meant he barely had time to dress, let alone have breakfast and tea. At the bus stop, he blew on his hands, then shoved them deep into his jacket pockets. All the way at the bottom of the right one, he felt a rolled up piece of paper. Feeling a chill run down his spine that had nothing to do with the weather, he unrolled it. 

The detailed sketch of a sword filled the page from corner to corner. Above the sketch were notations – Bilbo peered at them. They appeared to be instructions for the metal quality or the shape, he wasn’t sure. There were slight smudges on the paper where the girl had touched it. Bilbo reached a finger to them, stopping before he actually made contact. 

“Bilbo, you’re here early,” Hamfast said. He and Bell stepped into the shelter. Bilbo jumped and rolled the paper back up, shoving it back where he found it. 

“I, ah, didn’t sleep well,” he said. Just then, the bus coughed its way around the corner and Bilbo stepped forward to meet it. 

In the bathroom at work, he pulled out the paper and stared at it. “How did you get here?” he whispered. He touched the smudge gently and rubbed his fingers together, the tiny bit of soot rough against his thumb. The sword looked familiar, somehow, but Bilbo couldn’t think of why.

Back at his desk, he found a new pile of ration requests, all from the night before. “Dammit, Lobelia, why aren’t you doing your job?” He looked around and the glint of golden hair caught his eye again. 

He spent half an hour sorting through Lobelia’s leavings, then made sure to pass the mysterious cubicle, but it was empty. He stopped for a moment and looked in; the dust lay thick and undisturbed on the desk. 

In the Manager’s office, he sat down without being invited. “Look, Fortinbras, I don’t care that she’s Otho’s wife, you have to make Lobelia do her job.” He thrust the handful of unfinished work at Fortinbras, who recoiled. 

“Now Bilbo,” Fortinbras said, but Bilbo shook the papers in his face. 

“These are a full day’s work, Fortinbras. I can’t do my own work if I’m constantly cleaning up after Lobelia’s laziness. Either make her do her work or get used to it not being done. I’m not getting my rations cut any more because she won’t do her job.”

Fortinbras took the stack from Bilbo and shuffled through them, his expression tight. “Bilbo, can’t you do at least half of them?” He divided the stack and held one section out in Bilbo’s direction. “At least that way, some of these people won’t starve.”

“No.” Bilbo stood up. “Those aren’t the ones for low level adjustment, Fortinbras. _Those_ , I kept and I’ll do. These are the luxury adjustments and requests. I’m not covering for her anymore, and I suggest you stop as well.” 

Bilbo pulled Fortinbras’ door closed behind himself and trotted down the stairs back to his cubicle, feeling lighter and better than he had in years. He paused on the last step; the empty cube was lit again, and the person working in it looked familiar. They were blond and broad shouldered. Bilbo crept back up a couple of stairs, but he still couldn’t see well into the cube. 

He walked quickly in that direction, hoping to catch whoever was there, but before he got far, his cousin Primula bounced up to him, smiling.

“Bilbo, come and see! Drogo says there’s something he wants us to all to watch in the cafeteria.” She tugged at him and, after a second, he gave in, chuckling. 

“Oh, all right.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She’d been so little when her mother had brought her for Bungo to babysit and Bilbo had immediately taken to her. “So, do you think he’s finally going to come up to scratch?”

Prim giggled and poked Bilbo in the side. “He’d better, that’s all I’ve got to say about it. If he doesn’t, I will.”

That evening, after eating supper made from the last of the food in the house, Bilbo took out his own ration papers and took careful notes. This week, he could get everything, it looked like. He’d get all the butter he had cards for and freeze what he couldn’t use immediately. Flour and sugar were ready to be refilled as well, and he still had a card for eggs. 

He went to bed thinking of the brioche buns his father used to make.

***

“I’ll just get that for you,” a woman’s voice said. Bilbo looked up as she bustled away through a room filled people sitting at wooden tables. Some were eating, some just sitting with friends, but all were drinking from great wooden tankards. Bilbo rubbed his eyes. _The dreams are getting stronger. I don’t recognize any of this, though. I wonder if I’m dreaming of the same place._

The woman came back, one hand carrying a large bowl and the other a wooden tankard. She set them on the table, then dusted off her hands, smiling down at him. 

He looked at the stew and beer and smiled back up at her. “This looks excellent, thank you.” After a second, he realized he probably hadn’t paid. “Oh, right, I’ll just …” He patted his pockets again, finding a leather wallet in the inside pocket. He rummaged around in it and pulled out a tiny gold coin. It looked old; the engraving of a man’s face was softened and dirt had collected in the ridges around the rim. 

Bilbo handed it to the woman. “Here’s for the food. Please let me know if it’s not enough.” 

“Thank you,” she said. She glanced down at the coin, then looked back at him, her face shocked. Her hand closed around the coin and she backed away from the table, finally turning and rushing through the door behind the bar. 

Bilbo looked in the wallet to see if he could find more of the same coin, but there were only plain copper and silver coins left. _I wonder what that was about. I guess I over-paid. Good thing it’s only dream money._ He tasted the stew and sighed happily. _On the other hand, this stew is excellent. Well worth however much that was in dream money._

As he ate, he listened to the conversations happening around him. After a few minutes, he realized that one of the people at the table nearest him was the blonde girl he’d seen at the blacksmith’s. She was laughing with a strong looking woman, who wore crossed axes across her back. Bilbo wondered how comfortable that was, then shrugged to himself. 

“… and then he jumped into the river, with all his clothes on,” the woman with the axes said, waving one arm around exuberantly. “It’s like he forgot he can’t swim.”

“Especially with all his armor on,” the third person at the table said. He was sitting with his back to Bilbo. His hair was long and dark, but held back in a thick braid. Bilbo could see, when the man turned his head to talk to his companions, that he had a smaller braid on either side of his face which hadn’t been worked into the main braid. His heart clenched a little. The little boy he’d played with had worn his hair in a similar style and Bilbo wished he could see him again. 

The group at a different table erupted into shouts; they called greetings to two people who’d just come in. One was a young, dark haired boy who waved and grinned, but pointed toward the table with the blacksmith’s counter girl. The other was a taller boy with a haircut that Bilbo thought could charitably be called home-cut. He smacked the first boy on the back and sat down with the people who’d called to them. 

The dark haired boy called something to the serving girl behind the counter, who rolled her eyes, but poured him his own tankard. He brought it to the blacksmith’s table and sat down, grinning. 

“So Fili,” he said, looking at the blonde girl, then nodding towards the girl behind the counter. “Any luck talking to Zaira?” He cackled as the girl elbowed him hard in the ribs. 

“Did you tell mom that Nori’s teaching you knife-work?” she retaliated. “I’m sure she’d want to know.”

The woman who’d served Bilbo slapped a bowl down in front of the dark haired boy. “Kili, leave your sister alone. Fili, let him be.” The two children bent over their dishes, but slanted smiles at each other. 

When they were silent, the woman – their mother, Bilbo assumed – slid into a seat between Kili and the man with the braids and showed him something in her palm. He recoiled so hard his chair tipped back and turned to stare at her. Bilbo could see his face fill with a mixture of horror and fear. 

She pressed down on the air in a calming gesture, then spoke too low for Bilbo to hear. The man reached out and touched the thing in her palm. Bilbo caught a metallic flash, but couldn’t see what they were so upset by. 

The man said something and she glanced around at Bilbo, who realized he’d been caught staring. He blanched, then saw the expression on Fili’s face as she saw him. 

“Uncle,” she whispered, not quite softly enough for Bilbo not to hear it. “It’s that man, the one who asked for the …” She swallowed. “The you-know-what. He’s _right there_.” 

Just as everyone else at the table turned to look at him, Bilbo blinked and found himself sitting at his table, his nightshirt twisted around his legs, and his feet so cold he couldn’t feel them. 

“Okay,” he said out loud, “What the hell is going on?” He stumbled to bed, trying not to stub his toes, and shivered under the thin blanket until he finally fell asleep again.

***

Thorin stared at the gold coin and felt his whole back seize up. _Who the hell still has any of those old coins? I thought Smaug collected all of them._

He turned to look at this person, this man who was threatening everything Thorin had worked for since Smaug had slaughtered most of his family. 

The table was empty. 

“What th—” Fili stood up. “He was _right there_ , I saw him. And then he just … disappeared.” She stormed over to the other table and stood over a heavy coat. “How did he just vanish like that?”

Thorin couldn’t breathe for a minute; next to him, Dwalin had gone pale. Thorin stumbled over his feet as he followed Fili. The coat lay crumpled on the bench seat; a pair of heavy boots sat tucked neatly under the table. Thorin lifted the coat. It was still warm. Inside, at the neck, he saw a small embroidered crest: a tree with seven stars above it. 

Dwalin gasped, “D’ye think he’s back?”

“Who’s back?” Kili asked, looking at the coat. He picked up one of the sleeves. “Whoever he is, clearly he’s rich.” 

Dis glanced around the room. “Let’s take this into the back, shall we?” 

Thorin gathered the coat to his chest and buried his nose in the deep fur of the collar. _Bilbo. You’re still alive._

***

The next morning Bilbo dressed without showering and made a pot of tea with last week’s leaves. It was barely tan, but he downed it anyway. He felt around in his inside jacket pocket, but didn’t find the leather wallet.

“Why do you think it might be there?” he muttered, then shoved his ration cards in that pocket, stuffed his hands in the side pockets, and all but ran out the door to the shops. On the bus, he rested his head against the window and watched the city roll by. 

He blinked and saw a copse of tall trees, rich with color and heavy with fruit, standing where he was sure there’d been a rotted out old building. He glanced back as they passed it and the building stood there, ugly and decaying. 

Someone who got on the bus at the next stop sat down facing Bilbo. He bent forward and his haircut caught Bilbo’s attention. It looked just like the taller of the young boys who’d come into the pub in Bilbo’s dream. He was reading a book – a _paper_ book – and Bilbo felt his fingertips tingle with envy. 

There was a commotion at the front of the bus. A scrawny little man had tried to sit down too close to a stout woman, who’d smacked him with her purse. When Bilbo looked back to the young reader, he was gone. The man seated across from Bilbo was young, but he didn’t look anything like the boy from Bilbo’s dream. 

Downtown, Bilbo spent his rations carefully, feeling better and better as his canvas tote bag filled up. When all the shopping was done, he settled carefully into a corner seat in the little café and ordered a coffee and cake, his monthly treat. As he nibbled the seed cake and sipped his coffee – full strength and lovely cream – he watched other people through the window. 

The sunlight fell over the street, warming everything it touched. Colors brightened, and Bilbo could see happy smiles on everyone’s faces. They laughed and chatted; one boy even dashed past, pulling a paper kite on a string. The brilliant colors and gold paint of the paper dragon flashed in Bilbo’s eyes and he squinted. When he looked again, the boy was gone, the light was grey and everything was colorless and drab. 

“I haven’t seen a kite like that since I was a wee lad,” a voice to his right said. 

Bilbo swung around. A wizened old man in a baggy grey suit sat at the next table over, hunched over a pot of tea. “I—” Bilbo said. “You saw that?”

The man’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Why yes, young man, of course I did.” He stirred his tea. “Ereborean dragon kites are quite memorable. One wonders, though, how _you_ saw it.”

Bilbo shrank into his jacket. “Oh, erm. What?” He gulped the last of his coffee and set the cup down. “I’ll just—”

The man in grey sat up, his eyes sharp on Bilbo’s face. “Ah, never mind, how could I have forgotten. Bilbo _Baggins_ , how lovely to see you again. And your family, is your mother well?”

Bilbo gathered his shopping, tugging the heavy bag over his shoulder. “Goodness gracious, however do you know my name? Well, I’m terribly sorry, but I’ve got to rush, the bus is coming and I wouldn’t want to miss it.” He tried to fit through the narrow gap between his table and the next, but hit his bag on an empty chair. “Oh bother it,” he snapped. “Good _day_.” 

He glanced back to see the man in grey watching him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

On the bus home, Bilbo resolutely kept his eyes on his own toes.

***

Thorin sat on the little chair at the desk in his room, Bilbo’s coat in his hands. He’d had Fili sketch the man who’d come into the shop and it was clearly an adult Bilbo. He, Dis and Dwalin had spent the next hour trying to explain to the two children who Bilbo was. 

“So,” Kili had said, after listening to them in silence. “You’re saying you had a magical disappearing visible friend as a child? Like, the way Fili was friends with Hoppy the bunny, only everyone else could see him?”

Thorin had pressed his fingers into his eyes, but nodded. “Something like that.” He avoided looking at Fili’s slightly injured expression. 

Dis leaned forward. “I don’t remember much about him.”

Dwalin spoke up from where she leaned against the door. “You weren’t very old yet, and he always appeared wherever Thorin was. That meant he ended up following us on training patrols, toward the end.” She sighed and ran a hand over her warrior’s braids. “He came for years and years – I think the first time he came was when Thorin had been left alone to watch Frerin. His mother didn’t believe him that a stranger had visited, but she surely did the next time, when he showed up in the throne room.”

Fili looked between Dwalin and Thorin. “Sometimes I forget that you’re older than my uncle,” she said and Dwalin snorted at her. 

Dis stood up. “I’m going back out to work. Kili, do your chores, and then any lessons that need doing. Fili—” She put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “You can stay back here and relax, if you want, or you could come out and lend Zaira a hand.”

When everyone else had left the room, Dwalin followed Thorin to his bedroom. “Ye still love him,” she said.

Thorin laughed, and even he could hear that it sounded broken. “Yes. Not that it has ever mattered what _I_ want or love.” He ruffled the fur collar of the coat and set it aside. “You didn’t leave that last caravan just to come here and tease me about being useless.”

Dwalin sat down on Thorin’s bed. “There’s talk of another uprising.” Her hands twisted together. “I’d’ve left it, but this one’s saying he’s got Thror’s old sword.”

“All the Gods burn,” Thorin burst out. “Can’t we just… Dwalin, last night, Bilbo came into my forge and asked Fili to make him a sword.” At Dwalin’s slight recoil, Thorin barked a laugh. “Not just _a sword_ , he showed her a copy of the original design notes for Thror’s sword.”

Dwalin’s brows drew together. “The … how did he get those?”

Thorin stood up, knocking the coat to the ground. He bent and picked it up, dusting it off. “How in all the hells should I know? I never understood any of that. I just—” He paused, his hand on the right hand pocket. “I just know that he was my best friend—sorry, Dwalin—and then one day he never came back.” His hand slid into the pocket and he stilled. Slowly, his heart pounding so hard he couldn’t hear anything else, he pulled out a roll of paper.

Breathing slowly, he put the coat across the back of his chair, then spread the paper open on his desk. Beside him, Dwalin cursed under her breath.

Thror’s sword lay there, sketched out perfectly. The diagram included everything they’d need to re-make the sword. Thorin ran a finger along the smooth lines of the sword and sighed. “Well, I guess we’re in for it, now.” He turned and lay down on the floor next to his bed, hunting around until he snagged a small wooden trunk. After staring at it for a minute, he huffed and dropped the trunk on his desk, next to the sketch.

“What’s that?” Dwalin asked, her arms crossed.

Thorin swept an arm at it. “Open it.” He sat on the bed and let his head fall into his hands. As soon as Dwalin gasped, Thorin felt the last chance for a happy, insignificant life slip through his fingers.

“How d’ye have this?” Dwalin looked at Thorin, one hand holding the hilt of Thror’s sword and the other holding a small silver key.

Thorin sighed, trying to not slam the trunk closed and drop it down a well. “Mother gave it to me.”

Dwalin ran her thumb over the hilt. “The ruby is long gone, I assume.”

“No idea, but I assumed she sold it at some point. We had to have gotten the money for this place from somewhere and while Arne’s family had money, there’s no way it was enough to buy this.” Thorin rubbed his head. “How long are you staying?”

Dwalin set the things back in the trunk and closed it. “A month, probably.” She settled into the chair. “There are some other things I should tell you about the newest pretender.”

Thorin groaned. “Can we do that tomorrow? I’ll need your help at the forge, and I really …” He took a deep breath. “I am very tired.”

Dwalin was silent for long enough to make Thorin look at her, curious. Finally, she leaned forward and propped her elbows on her knees. “Thorin,” she said, her voice low and grave. “You’re my king. I’ll follow you anywhere, even into obscurity, but you can’t keep avoiding this. Smaug is hurting people. You’re here, you needed to be in one place while the kids were small, but it’s time to start looking outward again.” She stood and faced him, shoulders back and head up, looking every bit the Royal Guard she’d been all her life. “It’s time you were King again. We need you.”

***

Bilbo pottered about his flat, putting his purchases away. At the bottom of his tote, under the brown paper packages of beef and chicken, he found a tiny, unfamiliar package. _Bill must have put in a little extra. How kind of him. I’ll have to think of something to give back._ He set the packet aside and started a pot of chicken soup. When that was simmering, he made a small pot of tea and sat down at the table. 

The small packet sat in the center of his table. Bilbo sighed and picked it up. “I forgot to see what Bill gave me. It’ll have to be put away.” He brought it to the kitchen, tugged at the string, then stumbled backward, his hand pressed over his mouth.

The ruby glinted in the pale light of his old kitchen bulb. Bilbo swept it up with his hands, closing them over the stone. 

“Shit,” he said, then flinched as he caught the eye of the man in the portrait. Just then, there was a knock at the door. Bilbo flinched again, nearly dropping the ruby. He shoved it behind the portrait, in with his book, and rubbed his hands together as he stepped to his door. 

“Yes?” he asked, leaning up to look through the security peephole in the door. “Who’s there?”

“It is I,” an unfamiliar voice said. 

“Oh, yes, that’s very helpful,” Bilbo muttered, squinting at the peephole again. Finally he saw something move – it was the man he’d seen at the café, downtown. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything for you. Go away.”

The man laughed, and Bilbo felt something shift; his laugh was deep and warm and filled with the sound of happy evenings spent with family. “Oh, Bilbo Baggins, it is I who has something for you, of course.” He peered back through the peephole at Bilbo, who squeaked and pulled away. “I am only sorry it took me this long to remember it. Now.” He jiggled the door handle. “Let me in.”

Bilbo cracked the door open and looked at the man. His face was familiar, more so than if he’d only just met him that day. After a moment in which it felt as if the whole world was holding his breath, Bilbo swung the door wide and said, “Please come in. I’m entirely at your service.”

Somehow, the man made everything in Bilbo’s flat look small and shabby. He installed himself in Bilbo’s second chair and tapped his fingers on the table. “A bowl of that delicious smelling soup and a cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss, and then we can discuss what to do with that pretty stone in your wall.”

Bilbo crossed his arms. “We’ll do nothing of the sort. I have no idea who you are and I’m certainly not going to waste good food on someone who hasn’t even introduced himself.”

“Ah, very true. One must observe the rules.” He rose and gave a half-bow. “My name is Gandalf and that is all you need know about me. I will always come when and where I am needed.” He sat back down. “And now we need dinner, I think.”

Bilbo sighed and ladled out two bowls of soup, setting them on the table. After a few silent minutes in which he watched Gandalf eat his soup as if he’d only learned to use a spoon in the past hour, Bilbo bent over his own bowl. 

“Excellent soup,” Gandalf said, leaning back slightly. “Let’s have a pot of tea – full strength, I’m sure you’ll need it – and talk about the important things. And while you’re up, get that pretty thing you’ve hidden under old Saruman, there.”

Bilbo felt his shoulders tighten. When both the tea and ruby were on the table, Gandalf tapped the stone, making the red reflections on the table shimmer. 

“Very nice. Old Thror always did have a good eye.” He slurped his tea, then sighed. “I believe the Restrictions are fading again, are they not? You have been Dreaming again, after all.”

Bilbo blinked at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Do you do this to everyone you meet – follow them home and demand food? I should report you.”

Gandalf laughed again, rich and fruity. “Oh, my dear young man. I don’t need to follow people around, especially not the son of Belladonna Took.” He crossed one leg over the other and smiled. “Yes, I knew your mother, quite well, I’d imagine. She’d be ever so cross with me for leaving you alone for so long. However, I am about to correct that.” 

Bilbo set his tea cup down sharply. “I’ll thank you not to bring my mother – my parents – into this.”

“Alright. How about Thorin, then? And your dreams?” Gandalf looked amused.

“My – how did you know about—” 

“Did you think they were just _dreams_?” Gandalf uncrossed his legs and sat up. “Did your mother let you think—well, never mind that part. They’re not just dreams, Bilbo. You’re really going there, to Erebor. And now that the Restrictions are fading, it’s time you started taking action instead of just drifting along. Thorin needs you. Things are very bad, in Erebor.”

***

Bilbo turned to see he was inside Thorin’s old room, at the castle. His heart leaped and he peeked out the door. The corridor was empty. Bilbo shot out into it, trying to remember how to get to his old room, or maybe the throne room. _I knew that stupid old man was wrong. Everything’s fine._ He trotted along, keeping close to the wall, smiling to himself as he remembered the fun he and Thorin and Dwalin had had here. 

At one corner, he stopped and looked left and right, trying to remember which way to go. _The mosaic of their gods was on the corridor to the throne room. It was … blue?_ He stared at the corridor walls, then after a long moment, looked at the floors, and behind himself at the corridor he’d just come down. 

Everything was filthy. The mosaics had been chipped at – not removed entirely, but damaged, as if someone had taken a large metal ball and thrown it against the walls. The floor was dirty; it looked as if horses had been walked through, or possibly even stabled here. Now that he was paying attention, he could smell the sharp tang of ammonia mixing with rot and decay. 

“What happened?” he whispered. 

He worked his way carefully to the throne room, feeling more and more wretched at the destruction everywhere he looked. There weren’t any guards at the door, which had been left open. He slipped in, hoping no one was looking in his direction. 

A tall, slender man with flame red hair sat in the throne, feet up on the table. He wore exquisite silk garments, stained at the hems where they must have dragged in the general filth of the castle. He was eating a roast bird – Bilbo couldn’t see what kind – and after taking a huge bite out of each section, he held it in the air and called out, “Who wants this one?”

To Bilbo’s surprise, men in guard’s uniforms were standing across the table from this man and each time he offered the already-bitten food, one of them would wave their hands and say, “I do, my Lord Smaug.” They caught the food as he tossed it to them, and ate it with every evidence of pleasure. 

Bilbo started to edge his way around the room to see if he could get to the little door which he remembered led to the kitchens. He’d made it nearly halfway 4 when he forgot to look where he was putting his feet and stepped on an old bone. The snapping sound made everyone – even Bilbo – freeze. 

Smaug came roaring to his feet, shouting and bellowing, “Catch that pipsqueak!” The guards stormed forward, but several of them tangled up together before they could get around the table. As Bilbo tried to run over the piles of trash on the floor, he stumbled and fell to his knees. At the last second, he scrambled back up, dashed through the door, pulling it closed behind him as he kept moving. 

He toppled forward, his momentum hard to slow, when he saw that he wasn’t heading down the kitchen hallway, but was, instead, diving straight into a large fire. A hand grabbed the back of his collar and he struggled, sure the guards had got him. 

“Put me down,” he shouted, then let out an undignified oof as he dropped to the floor.

“ _Bilbo?_

Bilbo swung around and saw that he was in a room with an open back wall, a large fire in the center, and Thorin and Dwalin, staring at him, eyes wide and mouths gaping. It had been Dwalin’s hand on his collar; he could see Dwalin just lowering her hand from where she’d grabbed him. 

“Thorin!” Bilbo cried. “And Dwalin, what are you doing here? Who is that awful man? What has he done to your home?”

***

Thorin stared. Bilbo was here? Then, what Bilbo had asked hit him and he staggered. 

“Wait, d’ye mean you’ve been to the castle?” Dwalin demanded, stepping closer to Bilbo. 

Bilbo looked between them, his expression shifting from shock to confusion. “Isn’t that where we are? I was just…” He looked at Thorin. “Thorin?”

“Yes?” Thorin ignored Dwalin’s snort. “I mean, no, we’re not at the castle. We’re in Elazil. In my forge.”

“Are you really here?” Bilbo asked. 

Dwalin crossed her arms. “Are you?” At Bilbo’s sharp look, she shrugged. “You were always a bit hard to pin down.”

Bilbo shoved his hands in his pockets. “I think I’m dreaming.” One of his hands closed into a fist and he looked unhappy. “But that man said that I’m not, that I’m actually traveling here. That doesn’t make sense, because I always woke up the next morning no matter how long I spent here.”

Dwalin looked at Thorin, then sighed deeply. “Thorin, are you going to finish that shovel, or let it spoil?”

Thorin jolted and remembered that he’d been doing something. “Right. Ah, finish it, I guess.” He lifted it back to the anvil, then sighed. “Dammit, it’s gone cold.” He tossed it into the rack next to the fire and rubbed his hands over his face. “Alright, let’s get this over with. Bilbo… are you, how long are you here for?”

“I don’t know.” Bilbo looked around the room, then peered out the open back wall to the flagstone courtyard behind the shop. “I never knew how long I was going to stay.” 

Dwalin was leaning through the door to the front, so Thorin figured he was talking to Dori. He watched Bilbo wander out the door, face up to the sky. Bilbo looked so happy; Thorin felt his breath shorten. He followed, leaning on the door. 

“Elazil was – _is_ – in the North, right?” Bilbo looked at Thorin, reaching out a hand to his shoulder. Thorin felt his fingers like brands on the skin of his arm. Bilbo’s hand fell and Thorin saw him clench his hand.

Thorin nodded. “Yes. We’re about a hundred miles from Erebor.” He watched Bilbo for another few minutes, until Dwalin stepped next to him.

“Dori’s sent Fili to get us some food from the inn, and let Dis know what’s going on. Dori’ll watch the forge while we eat.”

“As if we _know_ what’s going on,” Thorin snapped, then pressed his lips together. “Sorry, sorry. That’s… that’s good, we’ll need food.”

“And I remembered Bilbo’s favorite was always the roast grouse, so Dis is sending one,” Dwalin smiled. 

“Grouse?” Bilbo swung around from where he’d been peering down the narrow alley to the main street. “There’s grouse? With the potatoes and the little… what were they, the stuffed cabbage things?”

“Holubtsi?” Dwalin laughed. “No, but I’m sure Thorin would be happy to make some for you.”

Bilbo turned eager eyes to Thorin. “You can make them?”

Thorin blushed. “Yes. I learned the recipe from the cooks, just a little after – well.” 

“What he means is, he learned how to make it just after you left for the last time,” Dwalin said. “O’course, we didn’t know it was the last time.”

Bilbo’s happy expression faded. “Right,” he said. He looked down the alley again, then came back to where Thorin and Dwalin were standing. “How much time has passed, here?”

“It’s been twenty years.” Thorin felt every one of those years as Bilbo’s eyes widened. “How long has it been for you?”

“The same,” Bilbo said. “I wonder….” 

Kili came tearing up the alley, lugging a large basket. “Mom had Zaira get me from lessons. She said something about a family lunch. Hi, Uncle and Dwalin, and … oh, uh. You must be the visible friend!” He reached Bilbo and took his hand, shaking it enthusiastically. “I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Kili Arneson dy Durin.”

Bilbo yanked his hand back, then snorted. “Visible friend?”

Kili handed him the basket, staggering as he let it go. “Yes, Uncle Thorin told us all about you last night.” He looked around. “Where’s the table? I thought it was time for lunch.” 

Just then, Dwalin walked by, rolling a round table along in front of herself. “Come on, Thorin, help me set up.” 

Within five minutes, the table was surrounded by five chairs and Kili began taking things out of the basket. “… there’s the pie and where’d she put the … right, bottles there, and oh, good, there’s cake!”

Thorin watched Bilbo’s face as the food filled the table. _What has he been eating? He’s so thin._ Thorin grabbed a plate and began scooping large servings of everything onto it, then set it in front of Bilbo. “Eat up.” He put less on a plate for himself and sat down on the opposite side of the table from Bilbo. 

Kili looked confused, but filled his own plate, sitting at the table next to Bilbo. “So, Bilbo. What’s your world like?”

Just then, Fili came through the forge, stretching her arms over her head and followed by a sturdy man with dark skin and silver hair braided tightly back. “I thought Dori and I would never get rid of old Niall. I’m starving. Kili’d better not have eaten all the—” She broke off and stared at Bilbo, then at Thorin. “Uncle?”

Kili looked up at her, beaming. “Look, it’s Uncle’s visible friend! Now _we_ get to meet him.”

Thorin sighed. “Fili, it’s okay. Sit down and eat. We’ll talk about it later.”

The stranger eyed Bilbo, then served himself from the dishes on the table. “I’ll eat up front,” he said, “and let you catch up.”

Dwalin looked up from her meal. “No.” She set her hands flat on the table. “No, we’ll talk about it now—keep eating Bilbo, you look like you’ve been half-starved, whatever your place is like—but Thorin, this is as much about your heirs as it is about you.” She picked up her utensils. “And Dori, y’might as well lock the door and join us. You’ll be as involved as the rest of us, come what may.”

Thorin looked surly, but started eating. Dori looked between him and Dwalin, shrugged, set his filled plate down on the other side of Bilbo and walked back through the workroom. 

Bilbo looked up from his plate. “Heirs?” He glanced between Fili and Kili. “Are they Frerin’s children? Where _is_ Frerin?” He looked around the table when everyone was silent and Thorin wished he could skip the rest of the conversations they were going to have. “And your father?”

“My father died,” he said, when it was clear no one else was going to speak. “He—when Smaug came, my father fought to give time for the palace staff to get out before Smaug’s—” Thorin breathed in carefully, fighting the urge to snarl the rest of what he had to say. “—Smaug’s men pillaged and raped their way through every one of them.”

“Oh _Thorin_ ,” Bilbo said, “I’m so sorry. He was always so nice to me.” 

Fili, who’d tucked her chair close to Thorin, looked up at this. “You knew my grandfather?”

Bilbo nodded and swallowed the rather large bite of grouse he’d taken. “Yes. Did you—” He looked at Thorin. “I don’t know what happened here, or when. Where’s Frerin?”

Kili looked puzzled. “Uncle Frerin’s dead. He died when I was born.”

Dori sat heavily on a stool next to Bilbo. “Yes,” he said, arranging a cloth over his lap. “He was a good lad. A bit headstrong—”

Bilbo snorted and caught Dwalin’s eye. 

“You can say that again,” she cackled. “It took everything we had to keep his head attached, when we were all sprogs running about the castle.” 

“Then, whose children are you two?” Bilbo asked, nodding at Kili and Fili. “If you’re the heirs—oh, surely not little Dis?”

“You know our mom?” Kili said, just as Dis herself came through the alley into the courtyard. She stopped and Thorin saw her expression cloud. He stood and drew her closer to the table.

“Dis, this is—” he started.

Bilbo jumped up and swept a full court bow. “My lady Dis, I wouldn’t have recognized you. You’re all grown up.” He smiled at her, his expression warm. “In fact, I clearly _didn’t_ recognize you. You were so little the last time I saw you.”

Dis stared at Bilbo, her eyes wide and suddenly filled with recognition. “Oh! Oh, I do remember you. You used to sneak me treats from the kitchens, and you taught me how to jab with the sword.”

Dwalin started laughing and Thorin collapsed into his chair. “I hate to break up this walk down memory lane—although I might have to have words with you about what you were teaching my baby sister—but I think we should talk about the reason you’re here.”

Bilbo’s face fell and he sat back down, looking at his emptied plate. Dis filled her own plate with the remainders of the food and sat down in Kili’s chair, lifting him onto one of her legs. 

“I don’t know why I’m here,” Bilbo said. “I was doing fine—I mean, not fine, things have been getting worse for so long, but that’s just how things are, right? Anyway.” He looked at Thorin, who felt his chest tighten at the misery on Bilbo’s face. “Anyway,” Bilbo continued, “I’d stopped dreaming, ages ago. Then this man came to see me and said it’s real, that all of this—” He waved a hand in the air, then snatched it back before he smacked Dori in the face with a muttered apology. “He said all of this is real and that I should come and give you this.” He pulled something from his pocket and held his palm open.

Thror’s ruby glowed in the late summer sunlight.

***

Thorin opened his door and Bilbo stepped inside, looking around eagerly. Dis, Fili and Kili, and Dwalin all trooped in behind him, carrying on a conversation about people Bilbo didn’t recognize. Thorin followed everyone and closed the door behind himself. 

When the door was closed and locked, Dis turned to Bilbo. “It’s time for these two scamps to get to bed. I assume you’ll be sleeping in Thorin’s room, of course.” She smiled at him while she herded Kili, complaining mightily, and Fili, who just looked downtrodden, off down the corridor.

“Okay,” Bilbo said, sounding dubious. He waved at the kids. “Good night. I hope I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Dwalin caught Thorin’s eye and raised her eyebrows. Thorin, knowing exactly what she was thinking, shook his head sharply. _I’m not going to do anything – Bilbo doesn’t think of me that way. ___

__“Ah, Thorin, I thought I’d be sleeping out here, on the couch?”_ _

__Dwalin chuckled. “Yer not sleeping with me, boyo. You’re not at all my type.” She shot a look at Thorin, who blushed._ _

__“I’ll make up a pallet on my floor,” Thorin said. “It’s no trouble.” He followed Dis down the corridor. It didn’t take him long to pull out the kit he’d kept for when he and Dwalin had worked as caravan guards together; he dropped it on the floor at the foot of the bed and wandered back up the corridor. He still couldn’t quite believe that Bilbo was here, in his home._ _

__He heard Bilbo’s voice. “There’s a lot that no one seems to want to talk about. What’s going on? Why are you here instead of at the castle, where you should be? How did Frerin die? Who was that awful man, in the castle?”_ _

__Dwalin grinned at him, all teeth. “Good questions, all of them. How’d you get Thror’s ruby?”_ _

__Bilbo groaned. “I don’t know. This whole thing is weird. I found the sketch of a sword in my pocket, a couple of days ago, and then today? Yesterday? I don’t even know. Yesterday, I went shopping – I had full ration cards, so I could get a lot. I had one of my moments in the café I get coffee in…” He looked at Dwalin, who’d raised her eyebrows._ _

__“Oh, right, I’ve been seeing things while I’m awake. Things from here.” Bilbo gestured around himself. “I saw some of the dragon kites. Anyway, that’s where I first saw that man, Gandalf.”_ _

__“Gandalf!” Thorin stormed into the living room. “What’s that old meddler doing with you?”_ _

__Bilbo took a step back, but shrugged. “I _don’t know_ , I keep telling you. He followed me home – he said he knew my mother – and he told me to give you that ruby.”_ _

__Dwalin put a hand on Thorin’s shoulder and he felt himself settle a bit. “So, Gandalf gave you the ruby?”_ _

__“No.” Bilbo looked between them, a study in confusion. “Didn’t I say? It was in my bag. I have no idea how I got it. I’d been shopping and after I emptied my tote bag of everything I got, there was an extra little package in the bottom. The ruby.”_ _

__***_ _

__Bilbo followed Thorin to his room at the end of the corridor. It was a comfortable looking room; the bed was large, but the room was big enough for Thorin to have a writing desk and even a small set of shelves, well stacked with books._ _

__Thorin looked a little awkward, then said, “I’ll go wash up and then bed down.” He pointed to a pile that Bilbo had taken for laundry. “Then you can wash up. I’ve got a set of night clothes for you, there on the chair. I’m sure I’ll be asleep by the time you’re done.” He fled the room and Bilbo watched him._ _

___He can barely stand to be in the same room as me. Why didn’t I ever grow out of this blasted crush on him. It’s not like he could ever be with me anyway, or that he’d want to._ Bilbo hung his coat over the back of the chair and caught sight of a small painting sitting on the desk. He leaned forward and saw the miniature that the court painter had made as a study for a larger work. The painting was supposed to be of the three boys, but Frerin had broken his arm just the day before, so the painter had arranged Thorin and Bilbo standing together, with a large statue of a raven where Frerin should have been. _ _

__The frame had curls of metal – Bilbo thought they looked like they were supposed to be feathers – and hanging from one of them was the ring Thrain had given him when he turned 15. He reached out now and touched it gently, remembering how proud he’d been at the time._ _

__“I’m—oh,” Thorin said. “I hope you don’t mind that I kept that.” He ran a hand down the back of his head and Bilbo tried not to wish he could run his own fingers through Thorin’s thick hair._ _

__“Why would I mind? It’s not like I could have brought it with me.” For some reason, that seemed to make Thorin even less happy, so Bilbo ploughed on. “I’ll just get ready.”_ _

__He rushed through washing up and trotted back to Thorin’s room where Thorin had already rolled himself into a giant bundle of blankets. Bilbo blew out the candle and crawled into the bed, wistfully thinking of the times they’d slept in the same bed when they’d been younger._ _

__“Good night, Thorin,” he whispered. “I hope I’m still here tomorrow.”_ _

__Just as he was drifting off to sleep, he thought he heard Thorin’s deep voice say, “Me, too.”_ _


End file.
